The Fate of Legolas
by Jewel Queen
Summary: Legolas is mysteriously dying but he refuses to tell anyone. Thranduil can't tell that and sends him to Rivendell anyways. But on his journey with the Fellowship, Legolas gains the courage to face his fears and answer some questions.
1. Chapter 1

I should have seen it.

His hair was so golden and fine that it looked white when bathed under the glow of a shaft-full of moonlight. It was not of the typical norm of Sindar elves as he were.

Seen it in the way he walked. Like an old and weary dancer, tired of preforming on his feet; you could still see the beauty, the grace, the elegance in his movements but you couldn't help but feel as if he missed a step or two. Now his hair had dulled from its once great magnificence and that was how he walked, how he stood, how he was and I should have seen it.

I should have heard it.

His lips so fair and smooth that it looked naive when the sun sprinkled its light on them, as if they had never been used for even the slightest dark notion. It was not of the typical norm of Sindar elves as he were.

Heard it in the change of his voice. Once it was so pure and frequent as the ice water that flows over a stray rock having come from its mountain top home and back again; he would sing praises that could churn tears from even the driest and hard-to-move wells. Now his lips turn cold and bitter, mouthing his old tunes but baring no more than a simple and pretty hum of his old music and song and I should have heard it.

I should have felt it.

His skin so tender and soft that it looked new-born when the stars reflected upon him, it was as if he was made of eternal stardust reborn every night so no evil mark could mar his beauty. It was not of the typical norm of Sindar elves as he were.

Felt it deep in the soul. In the heart of elven heart-strings that connected me to him like the long-stretching roots of overlapping neighbor-brother trees; how could I not feel the sorrow in Legolas, my son, feel his broken spirit crying for help. I should have but I did not and now it is too late.

_First ever LotR fic in an attempt at olden-style Tolkien language, for an elf even! What do you think? Should I continue because I'm not entirely sure what happened to dear Legolas but I think it is a lovely prologue. Reviews?_


	2. Chapter 2

In a lonely room at the northern most point in the palace sat a lonely elf, young for his race but far from young himself. His arms curled around his body as if chilled by the cool night air though his skin felt none. His brilliant blonde hair that could rival even the Great Lady of the Woods tied in elegant braids shifted over his pointed ears as he bowed his head. The light of the moon and twinkling stars sent him comfort and warmth in the otherwise dark, circular room from a wide window. Even so, the window was far away, cut into the wall in an ellipse shape, and only caught a fraction of the night's rays that only another fraction reached his skin.

It landed upon soft cheeks, touching the sculptedly fair prince and lending a glowing tone to his pale skin. He looked unearthly, unearthly at that moment even for his fair race. But his beauty was tinged with sorrow and darkness; mirroring the thoughts of his woodland realm's trees as they remembered their youth, before such darkness changed them from Greenwood into Mirkwood as they are ridiculed now.

The fair prince sighed, opening his grey eyes and looking up into the sky. The swirling clouds and stars were reflected in his orbs as he stood in silence again. Suddenly, but quietly, he began to sing.

_Once I lived among this land, _

_Free as any elf could be._

_Though my mind stays on the sand,_

_I now am chained to the Sea._

_How I wish it were not so!_

_But my heart urges me on:_

_On the path I must follow,_

_Onward, Thranduilion!_

_Ai, Ada! Ada! help me,_

_Please keep your lost, wayward son!_

_What will it take you to see_

_That my soul, weary, is done?_

_Send me not to this peril,_

_Anna nîn lîn estel! (1)_

He stopped, voice broken and unable to go on. He turned his face away from the light, towards the door and shut his eyes in pain as tears rolled down his face. One by one, slow and lonely they fell until he had enough of his misery. "I must speak with him. Maybe then he would understand," he said softly to himself, walking backwards until the shadows laid claim over his face.

(*~*~*)

As soon as the sun rose, lighting the earth with a foreboding red tint like watery blood, so did Legolas, face grim as he read the signs but determined nonetheless. Calmly, he strode into the throne room where Thranduil was speaking hurridely to one of his messengers. Patiently, his ears ignored the words they spoke as the same politeness extended to making him wait to greet his own father.

He did not wait long. Thranduil quickly sent away the elf, having already come to a conclusion on the matter for all eye's worth. "Ah, my dear son, nîn bein Ernil! (2) I have waited long for you, the messenger brings news I must share with you," Legolas sighed but walked up to him nonetheless, greeting him with the elvish kiss of royalty as custom: bowing low before him and taking his hands and kissing them as Thranduil pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Lord Elrond has issued a council of many minds, as you know. It is important that we are represented there if those dwarves shall be as well," Legolas closed his eyes, waiting for the dreaded sentence to come as his father spoke plainly. "I am busy attending other matters and it is your duty to go in my place,"

Legolas knew what the other matters were, even a babe that had ears or eyes would. The forest was falling into shadows as the loom of Sauron and Mordor seemed to grow. Their homeland was dying. Their enemy's forces grew in numbers while they slowly dwindled in people. With the ever-increasing threat of attack came the ever-increasing threat of fading away completely; it would be Mirkwood's last stand, having already been driven further into the heart of their lands twice. This Legolas knew and did not begrudge the importance and stressful priority to his father, but still there was what Thranduil did not know or refused to know that took importance and stressful priority in Legolas' soul.

"Father," he began, attempting to try his heart gently but swiftly. "I do not want to go."

"But you must. For surely you can not take my place here and I yours there," Legolas' heart thumped painfully and he looked away, unable to bear his father's perplexed frown upon shoulders tense with troublings in his sight.

"Let me begin again. Father, I can not go."

"Legolas," Thranduil's quiet words stung unintentionally. "Do not make me command you," his voice wavered at the end with sadness that spurred Legolas to deliver his final blow. He locked his resolved grey eyes against his father's own sad ones.

"Then, Ada- Ada, please, do not send me to this trap to ensnare my soul! Do not send me to Mirkwood's Doom!" he threw himself at the feet of the King, unshed tears glittering in his eyes. "Please, Ada, I beg of you,"

"O dina engwar tanya naara nîn utinu...faroth ikotane tanya amin aa' ndengina lle!" Thranduil whispered, going to his son and holding him tightly to his bosom. Legolas winced at his caring words and touch, to him it was the worst that he could do at the moment and he weeped because of it.

"Nîn utinu, essa sina engwar," he continued. Legolas closed his eyes and mentally fought with himself, wondering if he should say anything or push his embrace away and dutifully follow orders like a good son. Either was unimaginable and one was more heart-wrenching than the other. He sighed.

"Forgive me, Father," he whispered, wriggling away from his hold. "Forget the fears of the son and his exaggerations. I will go in place of you," he looked into his eyes and saw the conflict there. It was logical, then, when Thranduil nodded and accepted the answer so he could go back to other issues that plagued him. Legolas understood that, but still, he felt saddened when he saw a father's worry vanish from the orbs with intended denial.

"Very well, my son, this pleases me," he managed to say just as another messenger rushed into the room. Thranduil sighed. "If you will, Legolas...?" Legolas gave a curt nod and a stiffer bow than usual, crossing his right arm over his chest and keeping his head down. He waited a few seconds before pivoting and walking back into the only thing that was of some consolation to him nowadays: his gazing room.

He liked it much better when it was dark and the gaudy- modest compared to many other rooms but still gaudy- decorations were hidden under the veil of moonlight. The walls were a pale yellow during the day, mimicking the happiness of the sun, with a pattern of lightly bronzed leaves falling in swirls. They all turned grey and silver with the night, mimicking the somberness of the moon and stars and Legolas. Everything was better when the sun's sister and her children played and twinkled in the sky. They comforted him more than any tree or pretty bauble that caught his beauty-seeking race's eyes. Another thing that escaped his father's notice, or rather, want of notice.

Legolas leaned out of the windowsill and sighed as a dry breeze kissed his chin. Tomorrow he would set out for Rivendell and a true adventure would begin. The fate of the ring would be discussed and inadvertently, so would Legolas'. Whether he died a glorious death to fight for hope among thousands or he lived long enough to return home and diminish, it mattered not. Legolas knew he was dying, slowly, painfully, and no Healer or fevered prayer to the Valar would save him. It was incurable save for one remedy and that remedy was a poison.

He closed his eyes, willing his thoughts to leave on the wind's wings. He wanted to be clear-headed on his journey, to be able to wear a facade that everything was alright. Elrond would notice if he did anything out of character so he needed rest. He sat down in the middle of the floor, crossing his legs with a fluidness that spoke of familiarity and numbed his mind. He would sit vigil, off and on in the elvish form of sleep, until the moon died with her suicide-stars above his forest home one last time.

_Obvious disclaimer: Not mine, I was just hasty and forgot to mention Tolkien's greatness a bazillion times. Warnings: probably no Legomance, sorry, it won't work with what little plot I have so far. Review if you think a pairing will work/you want to see work in. Eventually more T-like due to darker and implied things possibly._

_(1) This is my own poem pretending to be like Tolkien's so it would seem real. His, for elves I gather, have much more thought and allusions and double meaning to them. Mine, for all intents and purposes right now, are simple sonnets abab... and in iambic pentameter most of the time; this one was not it had a 7-beat meter or whatever. Not usually my style. Translations are: Ah, Father! Father!...Gift me your hope! sorry, but little rhyme scheme with peril in both languages. I would rather it all be in elvish not only because it's beautiful, but because it fits Legolas' character to speak/sing his native words in true pain I believe._

_(2) I will always put translations up (unless they're obvious) for both of our understanding so just look here for them all from now on (in order of appearance):_

_nîn bein Erni - my beautiful Prince!_

_O dina engwar tanya naara nîn utinu...faroth ikotane tanya amin aa' ndengina lle - O, silent ill that burns my son...hunt so that I may kill you_

_Nîn utinu essa sina engwar - My son, name this ill_

_Drop a review to help me stay on track with my facts or comment on my story-line/writing please! Review for possible pairings too!_


End file.
